THE MISTRESS OF HIS HEART

The weight of the heavy plastic bucket in my hand felt like the weight of my entire life. My arms ached, my back was sore, and my feet were burning inside the worn-out rubber shoes I had been wearing for almost a year now. But I didn’t complain. I never complained. Complaining didn’t pay the hospital bills. Complaining didn’t buy medicine for my mother. Complaining didn’t put food on the table. I gripped the handle tighter, straightened my back, and kept walking down the long, shiny corridor of The Grand Imperial Hotel — the most luxurious, expensive, and exclusive hotel in the whole country. Here, chandeliers made of crystal hung from high ceilings, carpets were so soft you felt like you were walking on clouds, and the people who stayed here were the richest, most powerful, and most arrogant people in the world. People who were born with silver spoons in their mouths, people who had never known what it felt like to go to sleep hungry, people who had no idea that girls like me existed — girls who worked sixteen hours a day just to survive. I was Aurora Gray, twenty-two years old, cleaner, maid, and invisible to everyone. I stopped in front of Room 709. The golden plate on the door shone brightly. This was the Presidential Suite. The biggest, most expensive room in the entire building. Only the wealthiest billionaires, presidents, or royalty ever stayed here. I took a deep breath, adjusted my uniform — a simple grey dress that was too big and too plain — and knocked softly. “Housekeeping,” I said quietly, my voice trained to be polite and soft. There was no answer. I waited a few seconds, then knocked again. Still silence. I checked my watch. It was exactly 2:00 PM. Mr. Blackwood, the guest staying here, had checked out early this morning according to the front desk. The room was supposed to be empty. I had the order to clean and prepare it for the next guest arriving later in the evening. I took the master key card from my pocket, swiped it against the lock, and pushed the heavy double doors open. “Good afternoon, housekeeping,” I repeated, stepping inside just to be sure no one was left behind. The moment I entered, I froze in my tracks. The room was massive. It was bigger than the entire small apartment I lived in with my mother. The floors were polished marble, the furniture was leather and dark wood, the curtains were heavy velvet, and the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows showed the entire city skyline, glittering under the afternoon sun. But I didn’t look at the furniture or the view. My eyes went straight to the center of the room. Standing there, right in front of the large sofa, was a man. And not just any man. Damian Blackwood. My heart stopped beating. I felt the blood drain from my face, and I almost dropped the bucket I was holding. Everyone knew who Damian Blackwood was. He was the owner of Blackwood Group — an empire that covered oil, real estate, hotels, banking, shipping… everything. He was the richest man in the country, possibly on the whole continent. He was young, only twenty-eight years old, but powerful enough to make presidents bow and businessmen tremble. And he was terrifyingly handsome. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair styled perfectly, sharp features, a strong jawline, and eyes that were the coldest, darkest grey I had ever seen. He was wearing only black trousers, his upper body bare, revealing a chest and arms built like a Greek god, muscles defined and hard, skin smooth and tanned. He was holding a glass of whiskey in one hand, his other hand running through his hair in frustration. He looked dangerous. He looked angry. He looked like a king who was bored with his kingdom. And he was staring right at me. I stood there, frozen like a statue, my mouth slightly open, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. I had walked into the room thinking it was empty. I had made a mistake. A huge, terrible mistake. Damian’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t look embarrassed or shocked. He just looked at me with those cold, unreadable eyes, scanning me from head to toe as if I was an insect that had accidentally crawled into his palace. “Who let you in?” he asked. His voice was deep, smooth, and icy. It sent shivers running down my spine. I swallowed hard, forcing my legs to move. I bowed my head quickly, staring at the floor, terrified to look at him again. “I… I am so sorry, Sir! I… the front desk said… they said the room was empty. I was sent to clean. I didn’t know you were still here! I am so sorry, Mr. Blackwood! I will leave immediately!” I turned around quickly, ready to run out of the room as fast as my legs could carry me. I didn’t want to lose my job. This job was everything to me. If Mr. Blackwood complained about me, I would be fired instantly. And without this job, my mother would die. “Stop.” The single word stopped me dead in my tracks. His voice was low, commanding, leaving no room for argument. I stood still, my back to him, my hands trembling around the handle of the bucket. “Turn around,” he ordered. Slowly, shaking, I turned back to face him. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, too scared to meet his gaze. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and intense. “Look at me,” he said. I lifted my head reluctantly. And that was when I saw it. The coldness in his eyes changed. The boredom disappeared. The arrogance faded. His eyes widened slightly. His mouth parted just a little bit in shock. He took a step closer to me, his glass lowering slowly until it hung forgotten in his hand. He was looking at my face. Really looking at me. His expression shifted from coldness to disbelief, then to pain, then to a dark, terrifying kind of hunger. He walked closer, step by step, until he was standing right in front of me, towering over me, his presence overwhelming. I had to tilt my head all the way back just to see his face. He was so close I could smell the expensive cologne mixed with whiskey — a scent that was intoxicating and dangerous all at once. He reached out his free hand, and I flinched, terrified he would hit me or push me away. But instead, his fingers gently touched my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw, moving slowly up to my hair, pushing a strand away from my forehead. His touch was warm, surprisingly gentle, but his eyes were filled with so much pain and sadness it broke my heart just to look at him. “Lily…” he whispered. The name came out like a breath, like a prayer, like a cry from deep inside his soul. I frowned in confusion. Lily? Who was Lily? “Sir?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “My name is Aurora, Sir. Aurora Gray.” Damian blinked. The spell broke instantly. He pulled his hand away as if he had been burned. His face hardened again, the walls slamming back up around his heart. He took a step back, straightening up, the cold billionaire returning in full force. “Of course,” he said coldly, his voice devoid of any emotion now. “You are not her. How could you be?” He turned away from me, walking back to the table where a bottle of whiskey stood, refilling his glass. “Get out,” he said sharply, not looking at me. “And tell whoever sent you that I do not need cleaning. Leave. Now.” I didn’t wait for him to say it twice. I nodded quickly, bowed my head, grabbed my bucket, and practically ran out of the room, my heart still racing, my legs feeling like jelly. As the heavy door closed behind me, I leaned against the wall in the corridor, breathing heavily, trying to calm myself down. Damian Blackwood. The most feared man in the country. The man who never looked at anyone. The man who was known to be cold as ice. And he had touched my face. He had called me Lily. Who was Lily? And why did I look like her? I didn’t have time to think about it. I adjusted my uniform, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and walked towards the service elevator. I needed to get to the staff room and report what happened before someone else reported me. As I walked, I didn’t notice the small security camera at the end of the corridor, or the fact that Damian Blackwood was standing right behind the closed door, watching me leave through the small peephole. Inside the Presidential Suite, Damian stood perfectly still, holding his glass tight enough to c***k it. His mind was spinning. His heart was pounding in a way it hadn’t pounded in three years. He walked over to the large dressing table where a small framed photo sat — the only personal item he always carried with him wherever he went. He picked it up and stared at it. In the photo was a young woman with long brown hair, soft brown eyes, a small nose, and a gentle, sweet smile. She was beautiful, innocent, looking at the camera with pure happiness. Lily Morgan. The love of his life. The woman he had planned to marry. The woman who had died three years ago in a car accident that had broken him completely. Damian looked from the photo to the closed door where I had just stood. He compared the image in his hand to the memory of my face. It was identical. The eyes. The smile. The shape of the face. The way I tilted my head. The color of the hair. It was like looking at a ghost. He put the photo down roughly, walking to the window, staring out at the city, his mind working fast, calculating, planning. His grandfather, the founder of Blackwood Group, was dying. The doctors said he had only a few weeks left. Before he died, he wanted to see Damian settled. He wanted to see him married. And he had made it very clear in his will: If Damian is not married before I die, the entire company, the entire fortune, everything, goes to Damian’s uncle — a greedy, cruel man who would destroy everything Damian’s family built. Damian had refused to marry anyone for three years. He couldn’t. He loved Lily. No one could replace her. No one could ever come close. But today… fate had sent him a miracle. Or a curse. A girl who looked exactly like her. A poor girl. A maid. Someone desperate enough to do anything for money. Someone who had no family, no connections, no power. Someone he could control. Damian smiled. It was a cold, dangerous smile. “She is perfect,” he whispered to the empty room. “She is exactly what I need.” He took out his phone and dialed a number. “Hello? Yes. Get me the file of the new cleaner. Aurora Gray. Find out everything about her. Where she lives, her family, her problems, her debts. Everything. And bring her to my office at Blackwood Tower tomorrow morning at 9 AM sharp. Make sure she comes. Tell her… I have a job offer she cannot refuse.” He ended the call and threw his phone onto the sofa. He didn’t love me. He didn’t care about me. To him, I was nothing but a copy. A replacement. A tool. A way to save his empire. And I, Aurora Gray, had no idea that my life had just changed forever. That the meeting that had scared me so much was actually the beginning of a game I didn’t know I was playing. I walked out of the hotel and into the busy streets, heading towards the small market to buy cheap food for my mother and me. I was tired, hungry, and worried. The hospital had sent another notice. If I didn’t pay the bill within two days, they would stop treating my mother. My mother was all I had. My father had left us years ago, running away with another woman, leaving us with nothing but debts and pain. My stepmother and stepsister treated us like dirt, mocking us whenever they saw us. I was alone in this world, fighting a battle I was slowly losing. I stopped at a small stall, buying a bag of rice and some vegetables. I counted the remaining money in my pocket. It was barely enough to last two days. “Please, God,” I whispered, looking up at the sky. “Just give me a miracle. Just one small miracle to save her.” I didn’t know God had already answered. That the miracle came in the form of a cold, arrogant billionaire who thought I was a ghost from his past. The next morning, I arrived at the hotel early, ready to start my shift, terrified I would be fired for yesterday’s mistake. But instead of being sent to clean rooms, the head manager called me into her office. She looked at me strangely, with a mix of shock and respect — something I had never seen anyone look at me with before. “Aurora,” she said, her voice unusually polite. “Mr. Damian Blackwood himself requested to see you. Personally. He is waiting for you at his office in Blackwood Tower. Here is the address and a pass card. You are to go immediately. And… Aurora?” She looked me up and down. “Good luck. Whatever this is… it is huge.” I stood there, stunned, confused, terrified. Damian Blackwood wanted to see me? Again? Why? I walked out of the hotel, holding the card tightly, my heart racing. I took a taxi to Blackwood Tower — the tallest building in the city, the headquarters of the empire. When I walked in, the receptionist didn’t even question me. She saw the card and immediately led me to the private elevator that went straight to the top floor — the CEO’s floor. As the elevator rose higher and higher, my stomach turned upside down. What did he want? Was he angry? Was he going to fire me properly? Or was it something else? The doors opened with a soft ding. I stepped out into a hallway made of glass and gold. And there, standing waiting for me, was Damian Blackwood. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, looking like a god of business, powerful, cold, and terrifying. He looked at me, and for a second, I saw that same flash of sadness in his eyes before it turned into pure business. He gestured for me to follow him into his massive office. I walked in, and he closed the door behind me, locking it with a soft click that echoed loudly in the silent room. He walked around his massive desk and sat down, steepling his fingers, looking at me intensely. “I have looked into your life, Aurora Gray,” he said, his voice calm but heavy. “I know everything. Your sick mother. Your debts. Your father leaving. Your stepfamily treating you like trash. How you work twenty hours a day just to survive. How you are about to lose everything.” My blood ran cold. I felt exposed, naked, ashamed. I lowered my head, tears stinging my eyes. “Why… why did you look into my life, Sir?” I whispered. Damian leaned forward, his grey eyes piercing right through me. “Because I have a deal for you,” he said slowly, clearly, every word hitting me like a stone. “A deal that will solve every single one of your problems. A deal that will make you rich. A deal that will save your mother’s life.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Marry me, Aurora Gray.” I gasped loudly, my head snapping up to look at him, my eyes wide in total shock. “M… Marry you? Sir, are you… are you joking?” Damian stood up, walking around the desk until he was standing in front of me again. “I never joke,” he said coldly. “Here is the contract. You will be my wife for exactly one year. You will live in my house. You will accompany me to every event, every party, every meeting. You will smile, act loving, pretend to be the perfect wife in public. In return… I will pay off every debt you have. I will place your mother in the best private hospital in the country with the best doctors. I will deposit 10 Million Naira into your account. And at the end of one year, we get a quiet divorce, and you keep every penny.” He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “One condition though: You must never, under any circumstances, fall in love with me. Because I will never love you. You are here to play a role. Nothing more. You understand?” I stood there, my mind completely blank. Ten million naira. The best hospital for my mother. All debts gone. It was everything I had ever prayed for. Everything I needed. But why me? Why would Damian Blackwood, the richest man in the world, want to marry a poor cleaner? “Sir… why?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Why me? You can have any woman you want. Beautiful women. Rich women. Famous women. Why… me?” Damian looked away, staring at the photo of Lily on his desk. “Because you look like someone I used to know,” he said quietly, his voice filled with pain. “And right now… I need someone who looks exactly like her. Someone who can help me save everything I have built. And you… you are perfect for the part.” He turned back to me, his eyes hard again. “So? What is your answer? Save your mother, become rich, and live like a queen for a year… or walk out that door and watch her die while you struggle for pennies for the rest of your life?” It wasn’t really a choice. Not for me. Not for my mother. I looked at him — cold, broken, rich, lonely. I looked at the contract lying on his desk. I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and looked him straight in the eye. “I accept.” Damian smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile. It was the smile of a man who had just gotten exactly what he wanted. “Good,” he said softly. “Sign here, Aurora. And welcome to your new life. Remember… this is just a performance. Don’t you dare forget who you really are… and who you are pretending to be.” I picked up the pen. My hand shook. I signed my name at the bottom of the paper. And in that moment, I didn’t just sign a contract. I signed away my freedom, my heart, and my future. I stepped into a world of luxury, secrets, lies, and danger. I became Mrs. Blackwood. The wife of the Ice King. The mistress of his house. But never… the mistress of his heart. Or so we both thought.